


Cactuar Skewers

by HardNoctLife



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Gen, Humor, One Shot, Poor Prompto Argentum, Teasing, butt stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 08:27:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19719952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardNoctLife/pseuds/HardNoctLife
Summary: Based off a work of fanart by mysteriousbean5 on tumblr.Noctis and Prompto are given ONE JOB: go out and get potatoes for Ignis so he can whip up some dinner.Now watch some bastard fuck it up.





	Cactuar Skewers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MysteriousBean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysteriousBean/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Prickly](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/502504) by MysteriousBean. 



> **Don’t be shy! This author responds to all comments and welcomes fanart. Hit me up for an art-fic exchange on tumblr @hard-noct-life**

“Do we have to _walk_?” Prompto groans, and Noctis gives a sympathetic grunt as they trudge on, dust licking at their boots as it swirls around them. He lost their chocobo whistle in Galdin Quay—probably while wrestling Gladio in the sand.

Thus, the miserable trek through the Leiden countryside.

It’s mid afternoon, and the sun is merciless, making the air blur in front of them— a steamy wave of dirt, rocks, and the occasional burnt brownery.

“Stick a fork in me, ‘cause I’m _done_ ,” Noctis says after they’ve walked another twenty minutes. “Where the hell are these potatoes supposed to be anyway?”

“I dunno, but Iggy said they were just past the peak on the east side.” Prompto is pulling out his map, head cocking as he turns it at an angle and squints at the jagged mountain looming in front of them, trying to match the image to the sheet of paper. Noctis sees the hint of pink along the curves of his face, making his freckles stand out against his milky white cheeks.

“Give it a few more minutes and we’ll being having fried Prompto for dinner instead of fried potatoes,” Noctis teases, and his fair-skinned friend immediately slaps one hand to his brow as if to slow the burn that’s inevitable.

“The things we do for love,” Prompto moans dramatically, making Noctis snort.

“For the love of Iggy’s cooking, you mean.”

Prompto kicks a rock, sending it skipping as he puts his hands over his eyes to shade them.

“Yeah, that too—but I also like to live and _breathe_. He was shooting daggers at us the whole day, dude.” Noctis lifts his shoulders and lets them drop. He was used to Ignis scolding him.

The prince shakes his head and presses on even though he wants nothing more than to turn back. Ignis had sent them out in search of ingredients for dinner after they had pointedly ignored his comments about ‘playing too many video games’ followed by ‘why not make yourselves useful’ and, Noctis’s favorite, ‘it’s a beautiful day, perhaps get out and enjoy it.’

_I need a few things for our meal this evening. Care to run out and round them up?_

It hadn’t been a question, so Prompto and Noctis had made an elaborate show of rolling off their motel bed at the Three Z’s and tugging on their boots.

_If you hurry, you should have plenty of time to make it back before it gets dark._

The sun has started to make its way west, but there is still plenty of daylight, which also means plenty of time to tan their hides. Noctis knows Prompto is already a goner. He probably won’t be able to walk tomorrow, which most likely means another day at the Longwythe Rest Area. Which means another day to play video games and generally ignore his princely duties—so long as they make it back with these _damn_ potatoes.

“Ooh! Hey, I think that’s it!” Prompto points excitedly up ahead.

To Noctis it looks like every other rock they’ve passed in the last hour, but he takes Prompto’s word for it and quickens his step when the blond begins to jog. 

“I’m not running!” Noctis calls, and he doesn’t, allowing Prompto to dash ahead.

By the time he catches up, Prompto is kneeling in the midst of patch of shrubbery on the ground, digging in the dirt with his gloved hands.

“Score!” Prompto crows, holding up a misshapen brown vegetable. “Extra experience points for me,” he jokes.

“Great. Now all we have to do is make the one hour walk _back_.” Prompto hums to block out Noctis’s complaining, too busy unearthing their spoils to pay him any attention. Heaving a sigh, the prince of Lucis joins him, and soon they have their pockets full to bursting with Leiden potatoes.

They start heading back in the direction they came, taking a leisurely pace.

“Man, it’s hot,” Noctis points out the obvious for the millionth time, and Prompto begins to skip, full pockets thudding against his torso.

“The more you think about it, the worse it will be,” Prompto says in a horrible imitation of a Tenebraean accent. 

“Is that supposed to be an Iggy impression?” Noctis laughs, shoving Prompto in the shoulder so he goes off balance, but the blond grins good-naturedly and spins to recover.

“All right, it’s not great, but it took your mind off the weather for a second, didn’t it?” Prompto takes out one potato and tosses it at Noctis. The prince catches it one-handed and frowns in question, holding it up. “C’mon, let’s play a game or something. We’ve got nothing better to do.”

So that’s how Noctis ends up warp-striking into the distance with a potato as his weapon. Prompto whips out his phone to capture it on video when he does it a second time, wheezing with laughter when Noct strikes a pose and says: “I’m a total spud, don’t you think?”

The time goes by a little faster that way, and they’re about halfway back to the motel when they notice a rustling coming behind a sad-looking bush nearby. Noctis and Prompto both stop mid-stride, groaning when a pack of sabertusks meander into the open.

There’s a flash of brilliant blue light as the two summon their weapons from Noctis’s armiger, the prince swinging his sword to have it connect with one of the daemon’s necks before they have time to react. The beast goes down and Prompto gets a shot off before the others let out startled roars.

“Prompto!” Noctis yells, holding his arm up.

“Got it!”

Eyes narrowing slightly, Prompto sets off at a dead sprint, jumping and using the prince’s arm for a springboard. They’ve done this a time or two.

_Bang—bang—bang!_

Three bullets, three heads. Prompto nails each of the sabertusks before dropping and rolling to the ground, and Noctis swoops in expertly to finish what the sharpshooter started.

The prince of Lucis is dancing in and out of angry daemons, and Prompto finds himself captivated in spite of having seen him do it countless time before. Even so, he’s holding his gun up, ready to provide cover if needed, but Noctis seems to have a handle on the situation, so he makes the mistake of relaxing.

Pain shoots through Prompto’s body as he is tackled from behind, landing face down in the dirt. The air rushes out of his lungs with a ‘woosh!’ and he flails his arms wildly, hitting the sabertusk in the face with the barrel of his gun.

“ _Prom!”_ Noctis yells. Prompto hears the panic in the prince’s voice as the sabertusk bites into the back of Prompto’s Crownsguard’s jacket and shakes it like a dog with a bone.

There’s the sensation of something ripping as Prompto turns and jams his weapon into the beast’s open maw, firing in rapid succession. The bullets exit through the back of the animal’s skull, and it slumps its entire body weight onto its victim. Breathing heavy, Prompto pushes the corpse aside and crawls out from under it, cursing.

“Damn, that was a close one.”

“Are you all right?” Noctis wonders as he runs over, eyes wide in concern.

Prompto does a little turn, arms spread wide, and Noctis slaps a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh.

“Looks like it took a bite out of you.”

Prompto whines when he realizes that the back of his vest and pants are ripped, leaving a gaping hole.

“Nice ass. You could light all of Lucis with that thing,” Noctis teases between giggles.

Prompto flips off his best friend grouchily while the prince continues to cackle, holding up his pants with one hand as he starts to make his way over to a set of thicker bushes.

“Where you goin’, Prom? To dig a grave for your dignity?” Noctis is laughing so hard that his ribs feel like they’re pulling apart, and Prompto rolls his eyes as he squeezes into the brambles for a semblance of privacy as he attempts to fix his wardrobe malfunction.

Noctis flops down on the ground to wait, grinning from ear-to-ear, but the smile is wiped off his face when he hears Prompto scream like a cartoon character that has just been thrown off a cliff.

“What the—” Noctis is approaching quick, sword out, and nearly trips over something small and fast that bolts from the shrubbery. He warps away out of instinct, and catches sight of a bright green creature as it flits into a stony crag. Deciding that Prompto is the priority, the prince barrels through the brush, cutting aside dried leaves and breaking twigs as he goes.

He skids to a halt when he sees Prompto on his hands and knees—and immediately loses his shit.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA—Sweet _Six_ —”

Prompto is a solid baritone on a good day, but he’s a tenor now as he keens painfully, tears in his eyes as he reaches back to brush his fingers across the long quills stuck in his ass. Noctis is crying too, but not from pain, and Prompto curses him six ways to Sunday and then some.

“ _Fucking_ cactuar, man! I must have spooked it without realizing.” Prompto is banging his hands on the ground, squirming uncomfortably, and all Noctis can do is point and laugh, thankful that it’s Prompto who got needled and not the other way around. “C’mon it’s not funny!”

“Yeah, y-you’re right—sorry—w-wait, hold on—” Noctis whips his phone on to snap a picture before Prompto notices, wiping tears from his eyes. “Whew--!” The prince takes a couple ragged breaths to steady himself, but he’s still chuckling when he says, “We should probably pull those out—”

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Prompto hisses, fingers curling and uncurling as he inhales and exhales deliberately.

“We’re gonna have to get them out _sometime_ ,” Noctis says sensibly, and even though he knows he should feel bad, he’s sort of enjoying himself.

“Call Iggy,” Prompto cries, and Noctis puts one hand to his face to keep himself from busting out laughing all over again. He obliges though, and waits as the phone rings, clearing his throat when Ignis picks up.

“Yes, Noct?”

“Uh, hey, um—” Noctis can’t help it, he snorts as he looks back down at his friend, ass up, both cheeks looking like pin cushions. “Prompto got—needled. By a cactuar. And.”

 _Hold it together, Noct—_ but Astrals, this is _hilarious_ , especially when Prompto looks over his shoulder to glare at him, face several shades darker than the skin on his behind.

“I see. Does he need a potion? Is he all right?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s great.” Noctis grins and Prompto throws a rock at him from where he is hunched over. The prince dodges it easily and turns away so he can stay focused. “The problem is that the quills are stuck in his ass and we were wondering if it would be better to remove them or wait.”

There’s a pause on the line, and Noctis wonders for a second if he lost the connection.

“They will need to be removed, but you must take care not to break the barbs off in the skin, otherwise it may require surgical intervention.”

“What’s he saying?” Prompto moans, rocking forward on his knees to try and relieve the pressure.

“He says we gotta take ‘em out, but it’s gonna be tricky.”

“There’s no way I’m letting you do it,” Prompto says, and honestly, Noctis doesn’t blame him, but it doesn’t keep the prince from teasing him some more.

“Aw, what, you don’t trust me to take it out? Promise I’ll be gentle.”

“Let _me_ fuck you with a cactus and see how _you_ like it!” Prompto yells.

Ignis clears his throat delicately to remind Noctis that he’s still listening.

“How far away are you? Should I send Gladio?” Noctis pictures Gladio carrying Prompto over one shoulder like a hunting trophy, needles in his butt, and it’s _priceless_.

“We’re not too far, maybe thirty minutes out or so, but yeah, go ahead and send Gladio—I’m not sure he can walk.”

“NO!” Prompto screeches, and he’s starting to push himself upright, wincing with every movement. “There’s no way in hell Gladio will ever let me live that down. I’m walking even if it takes me all night!” Noctis arches one eyebrow and shrugs.

“All right, never mind, he says he’s good. We’ll see you soon.”

“Do be careful. Call if you need anything,” Ignis urges before Noctis hangs up.

Placing hands on his hips, Noctis smirks when Prompto removes his shirt to tie it around his waist, shielding his shame from immediate view. The blond still has to hold his pants up due to the giant rip in them, and he begins to inch forward, taking tiny baby steps.

“You’re gonna get more sunburned that way,” Noctis hums, walking a few feet in front.

“I think I’ve got bigger problems at the moment,” Prompto retorts miserably, and Noctis eases up a little on the jabs, still smiling as they resume their slow journey back to the motel.

The sun is just beginning to set when they reach the Longwythe rest area, and Prompto insists they go the extra hundred yards around the buildings to avoid being possibly seen by any other human being. Noctis rolls his eyes and crouches down, telling Prompto to get on his back.

“C’mon, it’ll be quicker.”

Prompto painstakingly follows his friend’s directions, and that’s how they enter the motel room. Gladio and Ignis are on their feet before Noctis can open the door all the way, concern showing on their faces—well, on _Ignis’s_ face. Gladio has on the same wicked grin that Noctis had worn earlier.

“Guess we know your butt really is that big since it didn’t pop on impact,” Gladio jokes, and Prompto flips him double birds over Noctis’s shoulders.

“Let’s have a look,” Ignis says, and he ushers the two over to the nearest bed so Prompto can lay face down. With all the grace he can muster, Prompto removes the shirt from around his waist, and Ignis and Gladio collectively inhale. Prompto’s usually ivory complexion is red and angry, swollen around the needles stuck in his muscle.

Gladio shakes his head a little, whistling. “Ouch.”

“This will hurt, but you must lie still.” Prompto bites his lip at Ignis’s instructions, burying his head into a pillow. Noctis and Gladio watch with morbid fascination as Ignis grabs as close as he can to the base of one of the quills, gripping it tight. Prompto clenches instinctively, and Noctis closes one eye—it hurts just to watch. “Take a deep breath and relax,” Ignis says. As soon as Prompto inhales, Ignis yanks, and Prompto makes the sound of an animal dying, everyone’s hair standing on end.

Face still pressed into the bed, Prompto kicks his feet a little before taking another breath. Ignis applies a towel that he seems to magic out of nowhere to the spot where the needle once was, waiting for Prompto to recover before moving on to the next—and the next—and the next.

At some point, Gladio and Noctis find ways to make themselves busy, and by the time Ignis finishes performing minor surgery, it’s past the time they should have eaten dinner. Prompto, sunburnt, with his body throbbing, is given a pass on helping with anything else for the rest of the evening, but Ignis drags Noctis away to help cut up the vegetables.

He empties his pockets of the potatoes he helped retrieve, then goes to grab the rest from Prompto’s jacket, only to come up empty.

“Yo, Prom—where are the rest of the potatoes?”

Prompto gives a slow blink from where he is lying on the couch, an ice pack resting on his backside and aloe lathered on his face and chest.

“Uhh… in my pockets?”

Noctis shakes his head slowly as he watches Prompto’s eyes widen.

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me! They must have dropped out sometime between that sabertusk tackling me and getting sprayed by the cactuar.” He facepalms and Noctis scratches his head, not sure how Ignis is supposed to make potato soup now with only half the amount of ingredients needed.

Hearing the exchange, Ignis walks out of the small excuse for a kitchen, pausing thoughtfully to lean in the doorway.

“Well then, grilled cactuar spine skewers and roasted potatoes it is.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine that when Noctis calls Ignis, Specs puts the phone on mute so he can laugh without anyone hearing him--like a fucking gentleman.


End file.
